Things Gained
by Chomjangi
Summary: When a mission goes horribly worng, it's just the beginning...


Title: Things Gained Author: Chomjangi (Chomjangi@aol.com) Rating: R Spoilers: FFH, F2B, IHWIDT, PTD, DoT (Gotta love the acronyms) Archive: Knock yourself out. Category: Romance, Humor (well, I think it's funny) Synopsis: When a mission goes horribley wrong, it's just the beginning...  
  
Disclaimer Dance: If I owned The Invisible Man, Arnaud would be permanantly visable, Alex would would permanantly invisable, and Darien would be permanantly naked. Alas, I don't; please do not sue.  
  
Things Gained by Chomjangi  
  
  
  
The mission went perfectly. For about five minutes.  
  
Then, as was usually the case, it all went to hell. Suddenly the guys they were supposed to be surprising decided to suprised them and Darien and Hobbes found themselves laying face down on a warehouse floor while three guys with guns hovered over them. "Have we ever had a mission that went smoothly?" Darien asked, as one of the guys patted him down. "That diamond smuggling case went off without a hitch," Hobbes said, as another gunman did the same to him. "What are you talking about? The van broke down on our way back and we ended up walking halfway across Mexico to find a pay phone." "But the case was technically over by then. The case itself was flawless." "The van was not." "Shut up," the third gunmen said, and cocked back the reciever of his weapon. "You want me to blow your heads off?" "Not really," Hobbes said, "hey Fawkes, you think you can do something about keeping our skulls attached?" "No problem," Darien said, as he disapeared. While the gunman stood in shock staring at the place where their prisoner had just vanished, Hobbes took the opertunity to disarm the gunman standing above him. Darien, reappearing behind number two, did the same, leaving two guards sprawled on the floor. The third one, not wishing to meet the fate of his fellows, took off through the warehouse. "I got him," Hobbes said, "cuff these two." The gunman knew the warehouse intimately, and made his way between crates with Hobbes trailing a few feet behind. He vanished into a door, hidden in the back, Hobbes following his every move. As Hobbes walked through the door he stopped dead in his tracks. The gunman had disapeared into what appeared to be some sort of laboratory, in which two guys in white coats were messing with bunsen burners and tubes. They were both looked rather startled as Hobbes burst through the door. For a split second they exchanged suprised glances, then, with a roar, the gunman tried to take Hobbes from behind, and both of them went tumbling to the floor. The scientists scattered as the two of them rolled over into a table full of glassware, trying to gain the upper hand. As Hobbes fended off pieces of flying glass, the gunman manged to get to his feet. He limped over to the table where the scientists had been working; but before he had a chance to react, Hobbes was back on his feet and approaching him. "Time to give it up, Compadre," Hobbes said, removing his gun from his holster, "Bobby Hobbes always catches his man." The gunman reached behind him and picked up a large beaker filled with a clear liquid. "Wow, a glass of water. That's a good weapon," Hobbes started to say, but broke off as his opponent splashed the contents of the glass into his face. "Son of a..." Hobbes had to wipe the substance away from his eyes. It was stinging a little, his eyes blinking back tears, but he continued to approach. "If you think thats going to stop me, then you have another thing coming. Bobby Hobbes never..." Hobbes stopped, blinking again, "Bobby Hobbes never...I never..." The last thing he heard as he fell to the floor was the sound of the gunman's footsteps disapearing in the distance.  
  
"Report," The Official said, "I can't even wait to hear what it is this time. Darien was sitting on to a chair next to a gurney which contained the unconcious form of Bobby Hobbes. Claire sat at her microscope on the other side of the room, glancing back every moment or so to check on her patient. "Well," Darien started, "we followed a couple of Giovanni's thugs to a warehouse downtown to try and bust this big drug deal that was supposedly going down. Except when we bust in these guys are waiting for us. We got down two guys but number three took off. Hobbes went after him, but now he's long gone." "That's it?" The Official asked. "Pretty much." "So why is Hobbes unconcious?" Darien shrugged. "Search me. I went looking for him and found him like this in some sort of back room that had been turned into a drug lab." "Is he wounded." Claire turned away from her microscope. "I'm not sure," she said, standing up and walking towards them. "Physically he appears to be fine. With the exception of a slightly lowered pulse rate he seems normal." "Then why isn't he awake?" "I don't know," she said, "but it may have something to do with this." She held up a vial of his blood. "There is an unknown substance in his blood steam. I don't know what it is or how it was transmitted to him. But there's a good chance that this is what is causing his condition." "What condition?" The three of them turned, suddenly, to see Hobbes sitting up on the gurney. "Hey buddy, you're back," Darien said. "How are you feeling." "Fine," Hobbes said, as Claire took his pulse. "Can you tell me what your name is?" she asked, examining his pupils. He smiled. "Robert Albert Hobbes." "Do you know who everyone here is." "If it will make you happy," he said, "Darien Fawkes, Charles Borden, Albert Eberts," he paused, looking up at her, "and Claire." "Well," she said, "he seems to be unaffected." "Something is finally going our way today," The Official said. "You keep an eye on him and try to figure out what happened. Darien can talk to the guys they brought in." The two men walked out, trailed by Eberts. As the door closed Claire went back to examining Hobbes. "Are you feeling any pain? Any disorientation?" He smiled again. "I'm as right as rain," he said, "just a little sleeply." "Well, I'll take another blood sample to send off to be analysed," she said, turning away to get a syringe. "Whatever you want, sweetheart," Hobbes said softly. Claire turned around. "What did you just call me?" "I though you liked it when I called you that," he said, sitting up and dangling his legs over the side of the gurney. "Hobbes," she said, walking back towards him, "are you sure you feel alright?" "I'm fine," he said, walking, a little unsteadily, towards her, "you worry too much about me." He leaned closed to her, letting one arm curve around her waist and draw her to him. "I worry about you too," he whispered into her ear, as he kissed her on the corner of the lips. Claire pulled away, backing up a few feet away, her eyes wide with shock. "Bobby," she said, "what's gotten into you?" "What's the matter," he said, "can't I kiss my own wife?" She stared at him. "Tell me what you're name is?" "Not this again. Robert Albert Hobbes." "Do you know the date." He recited it easily. "Does something make you think I'm going crazy or something?" She continued. "Can you tell me where we are?" He shrugged. "Your lab. In the basement. FBI headquarters, San Diego field office." Her eyes widened. "The FBI?" "Yeah, you know, Federal Bureau of Investigation. The agency that you and Fawkes and I work for." She continued to stare. "You remember, Darien Fawkes, my partner, my best friend. We were at Quantico together." She didn't budge. "Come on, you're acting like I've gone of the deep end," he continued. "I know where I am, I know who I am. We're in San Diego. My name is Robert Hobbes. Your name is Claire Hobbes." "Claire Hobbes?" she repeated, taking another step away. "Yeah, you remember a couple of years back when we got married," he said sarcastically, taking another step towards her. "I do," he said gently, reaching out to brush a strand of hair back from her face. "I remember ever minute we've been together." "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Okay, I'm going to get The Official. Stay right here. Don't move."  
  
"What do you mean something is wrong with Hobbes?" Darien asked as they returned to The Keep. "I don't know," she stuttered, "it's just, I..." The door to The Keep opened. Hobbes was sitting on the gurney, swinging his legs back and forth. "Hey guys, what's cooking?" "He looks fine to me," The Official said. "Bobby," Claire said, "tell them what my name is." "Claire." "My full name." "Claire Hobbes." "Your last name is Hobbes?" Darien said. "No, it isn't," The Official and Eberts said in unison. "Where do you work," Claire continued. "I'm a special agent for the FBI," Hobbes said, "San Diego Office. My partner's Darien Fawkes. Our boss is Charlie Borden." "What's wrong with him," The Official asked. "He appears to be undergoing some sort of delusions..." Claire said. "Delusions of grandeur," Eberts said under his breath. "So he thinks we work for the FBI," Darien said, "and you're what, his sister?" "His wife," Claire said. Darien whistled. "Looks like Hobbes is living in his fantasy world." "Robert," Eberts asked, "how much money do you make?" Hobbes responded quickly. "Five hundred thousand a year." The Official couldn't help but laughing. "He's lucky he makes five hundred dollars a year." "What kind of car do you drive?" Darien asked. "A Mercedes," he said, "a Hummer for work." "Oh yeah, Hobbes has slipped off into a fantasy world alright." "So you think that this drug is making him do this?" The Official asked. "God only knows."  
  
When Darien came back Claire was sitting on the floor outside the keep looking through a large book. "You left Hobbes in there alone?" he asked. "He's fine," she answered, still paging through the book, "but I felt a little akward sitting in their with him." Darien smiled. "Well, we talked to the two gunmen we pulled out of the building. They had no idea what was being cooked up in that lab, so they weren't much help. And we haven't been able to track down either of the scientists. So I guess," he said, "it's up for you cure Bobby. Unless, of course, you like being Mrs. Robert Hobbes." She glared at him. "To be honest, I don't know if there is anything I can do for the moment. I sent samples of his blood and the samples collected from the warehouse to be analysed, but they won't be back until tomorrow. So until then..." She shrugged. "Have you been able to convince him that this imaginary life is nothing but a fantasy, or is he still off in la-la land?" "Your welcome to try and tell him about what his life is really like, but it won't help," she sighed. "He really believes everything he told us earlier. Like his old life never happened." Darien leaned against the wall. "So what about tonight? You can't just leave him here." Claire sighed. "No, I guess I can't..."  
  
Pavlov was waiting for them at the front door. "Hey there boy," Hobbes said, getting down on his knees to pet the dog. "Somebodys happy to see me." Hobbes acted as if he had just walked in the door of his own house, despite the fact that he had been in Claires house only once or twice. Wihout even pausing he slipped his shoes off and padded through the hallway in his socks. "Whose turn is it to make dinner?" he called in from her living room. She heard the TV turn on. "I guess I will," she said, following him into the room. He was laying stretched across her couch, his feet hanging over the edge of her sofa, as if he owned the place. After a moment she went to the kitchen and closed the door. She opened the refrigerater and stood there, trying to think of what she could make. In the other room she heard the television, and Hobbes yawning softly. It was strange-- she was so used to being in the house alone-- to know that somebody was in the other room. Almost comforting. Was this Bobby's idea of a perfect life? Living with her and her dog in this little house, making dinner for her every other night, acting out the role of the super spy during the day. It didn't seem like him... for one thing, she wasn't his type. She couldn't imagine him wanting a life like this, with her. Infiltraiting a Soviet spy ring, hunting down ivory thieves in the African bush-- that seemed more like his fantasy life then being married to her. She was just too ordinary. She was standing at the counter, chopping tomatos for a salad, when Bobby came in. She was so lost in thought that at first she didn't notice, and when she did, he was standing directly behind her. He slid his arms around her waist, burying his face in her hair. She stopped, and put the knife down on the counter. He pressed his lips to the back of her neck, burrowing his nose through her hair, lingering there while his hands curled around her stomach, drawing her close to him. Part of her wanted to push him away, and yet somehow she didn't move, even as he began to kiss the line of her jaw, up towards her ear. "I just realized something," he whispered, his warm breath in her ear making her shiver, "I haven't told you that I loved you since we got off work. So," he said, turning her around so that she was facing him, "I love you." When he leaned over to kiss her, she didn't pull away as she had before. It was a slow, intimate kiss, as if this was not their first kiss but just another part of their daily routine. And yet somehow, the knowing, famialer way he kissed her managed to take her breath away, and as his hands rose to tangle in her hair she realized that she couldn't have stopped him even if she had wanted to. He pulled away from her after a moment, letting another brilliant smile flash across his face. "You know something," he said, brushing back her hair with one hand, "I am the luckiest man on earth. I mean, I have the job I've always wanted, I get to spend everyday with my best friend, and," he said, wrapping his arms around her again, "I have you, Claire." How terrible it would be, Claire thought, for Hobbes to have to come back to his real world, where he spent his days chasing terrorists for no glory, no fame, and no money, and spent his nights sitting alone in his apartment. In a world where there was no ex-wife, no lithium, no quicksilver gland, no Chrysalis and none of the other things that made him unhappy. Looking at him now he seemed so happy, so unaware of everything he had been through and everything he was still going through. And a part of her, the part that was still tingling from the way he had whispered her name, and the way he had said 'I love you', wished he would never have to go back to reality. After diner Bobby went to do the dishes without asking and Claire, trying to find something that would take her mind off of him, went into her study. For a while she stared at her computer screen, looking at the little data she had about the compound in Hobbes' blood stream. But she found that her mind was wandering in other directions...directions that ultimately brought her back to their kiss earlier in the evening, when Bobby's blood had been the last thing on her mind. So she switched over to the quicksilver file, continuing the lonely, pointless task of permutating possible variations of the counteragent formula and looking at old test results. She had been lost in thought for a long time when Bobby came in. He put his hands on her shoulders and peered over her head at a digital recreation of the QS gland on her screen. "What's that?" he asked. "It's the quicksilver gland." "What's that?" Claire looked up at him, realizing that the gland, with all it's problems and potential for evil, didn't exist in his perfect world. In his imagination, Darien was just another agent. "It's just an experimental project I'm working on," she said finally. He left the room. For a while she heard him watching TV in the other room and then, after about an hour, it shut off and she heard him going upstairs. She let about ten more minutes go by before her curiosity got the better of her and she followed him. In the bathroom off of her bedroom, the shower was running. She peaked in through the bedroom door and saw that Hobbes had made himself at home, leaving a trail of clothes into the bathroom. As she was debating wether or not to go in further the doorbell rang doorstairs. Darien was standing outside, holding a black bag in one hand, when she opened the door. "How's married life treating you?" he asked as he came inside. He leaned over to scratch Pavlov on the head with his free hand. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Just wanted to see how the newlyweds were doing," he snickered, "plus, I figured that Hobbes would need some clothes in the morning." He handed her the black bag. "When he opens the closet and sees dresses where his suits should be he met get freaked out." "That's actually a good thought," she admitted, taking the bag and setting it next to the door. "So, is he around?" Darien asked. "He's taking a shower," Claire said, walking into the living room, "can I get you something to drink." "No thanks," he said, sitting down on the couch, "so how is he?" "His symtoms haven't lessened. His delusions haven't lessened any." "Okay," Darien said, "how about you?" "I'll live," she said. "Why would you think anything was wrong." "I don't know, I figured it must be kind of...strange to have Hobbes all over you like this." "Well, I'll admit it is strange," she conceded. "I mean, I had never really thought that Bobby ever...had feelings for me." Darien laughed. "You're kidding right? I mean, he flirts with you every chance he gets? He couldn't be more obvious unless he got your name tattooed on his forehead." She shrugged. "I guess I had always thought it was just his way of joking with me. I had never considered that he would actually have feeling about me. At least, not like this." "What do you mean?" "I mean...I never thought I was the kind of person he would be interested in." "Well," Darien said, leaning closer to her, "I can tell you that that perception was mutual." "Why didn't he think I would be interested in him?" "Let's see," Darien mused, "he's a bald, short, pyschotic, poorly paid government agent with a crappy car and an ex-wife who has enough pyscological baggage to fill a 747. I can't imagine why Hobbes would think that a woman like you wouldn't love to go out with him." "You've talked about me?" Claire said, suprised. "Of course we've talked about you," Darien said, "you can only be on a stakeout for so long before you'll talk about anything." "What did he say," she asked, "about me." He shrugged. "We aren't girls, Claire. We didn't really go into details." "I guess not." They sat for a few minutes in silence. "I'm going to take a stab in the dark here," Darien said softly, "but it seems to me like maybe Bobby's attraction to you is mutual." "Why would you think that," she smiled, "he's a bald, short, pyschotic, poorly paid government agent with a crappy car and an ex-wife who has enough pyscological baggage to fill a 747." "And you have the hots for him," Darien finished for her. She blushed. "Well I wouldn't put it so crudely, but..." "Hobbes and the Keeper, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G." "Oh that's wonderfully mature." At that moment she heard the shower shut off upstairs. "Did you want to see him?" Claire asked. "No, that's okay. I'll leave you two alone," Darien leered, as he got up and walked to the door. She followed him down the hall and locked the door behind him.  
  
Hobbes was still in the bathroom when she came into her bedroom, carrying the bag Darien had brought over. She took out some clothes and put them in her dresser alongside her own clothes. As she was putting the bag away he came out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel slung low over his hips. He went over to the dresser and rooted around until he pulled out a pair of underwear and proceded to let thhe towel fall to the floor as he pulled them on. Claire turned away quickly, though not so quickly that she didn't catch a glimpse of his damp body. Embarassed, she went into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind her. She undressed, slowly, aware that Hobbes was on the other side of the door doing God knows what. A few articles of his clothing were scattered acorss the bathroom floor, including a pair of boxers pushed against the bathroom wall. She picked them up and folded them, setting them on the back of the toilet along with his socks and shirt. She stepped into the shower, letting the warm water washing over her as she tried to relax and stop thinking about the past twenty-four hours, though forgetting about what had happened seemed to be impossible. When she had woken up that morning she'd had no idea that Hobbes had any feeling towards her other than as a friend and now...now his underpants were sitting less than a foot away from her. She washed her hair and then the rest of her body, letting her soapy hands run over her skin. She wondered what Hobbes could possibly see in her. She didn't think that she was particularly attractive; she certainly wasn't the type that men drooled over. She was the smart, quiet girl who sat back and watched the pretty, stupid girls get all the attention. She got out and, after drying her hair, slipped into the least revealing pajamas she had. For the first time it occured to her that Hobbes would be expecting to sleep in her bed. Maybe, she thought, if she got in now and went to sleep then nothing would happen... But when she opened the door he was already in bed, reading a magazine he must have found downstairs. Apparently he was planning to sleep in his underwear, and he was just laying their, on top of the comforter, his chest rising and falling as he tuned the pages, while the other supported his head. She froze as she took is all in-- his powerful build, his strong thighs, his huge... "You coming to bed, or are or just going to stand there all night?" Hobbes interrupted, smiling at her. Embarrassed, she helped him pull back the covers and together they climbed underneath. Part of her was shy, but she couldn't deny that some part of her wanted this. Even when he leaned over and took her into her arms, she couldn't resist. They lay, side by side, exchanging slow, intimate kisses as his hands traced cirdles on her back. There was no sense of urgency, as if they had done this a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times more. The thought that, in his mind, this was just another one of their nights together, caused her to pull back as he began to unbutton her pajama top. "You've had a long day," she whispered, "maybe we shouldn't." He growled low in his throat and pulled her closer. "You're the doctor," he said, nuzzling her neck, "but you'll have to make it up to me this weekend." "Okay," she murmured, as she lay back down on her pillow. "It's a date." Despite the darkness, she could tell that he was smiling, as he moved over to her side of the bed and lay his head upon her breast, letting one hand curl around her waist. Within a few minutes he was asleep, still holding her. For a long time she lay awake, watching him sleep, and wondering if they would ever be able to go back to the place they had been before.   
  
When Claire awoke the next morning Hobbes was gone. Putting on a robe, she made her way downstairs, and found him making coffee in the kitchen. "Mornin' Darlin', how did you sleep?" "Good," she said, and let him give her a quick peck on the cheek. "We better get moving, or we're going to be late." "Your test results are probably back," she started to say, but he was paying no attention, and had already started to go upstairs to get dressed.  
  
Almost as soon as they arrived at the agency, Claire was called upstairs to the official's office. "Well, what's the verdict?" He asked, as she leafed through the results of Bobby's blood test. "Mushrooms," she said. "Excuse me?" She handed him the chart. "Hobbes has a low grade, fungal infection," she said, "and the samples of the liquid found at the lab contained simaler fungal matter, which appears has simaler properties to hallucinagens found in mushrooms." "Hobbes was on 'shrooms?" Darien said. "Awesome." "Not exactly," she continued, "it appears that these scientists have discovered a fast-growing single celled-organism which naturally produces a substance akin to LSD. It's ingenious, actually," she said, "it would be incredibly easy to transport, hide, and even a tiny quantity could reproduce hundreds of times within twenty-four hours." "I better alert the DEA," Eberts said. "So you can fix Hobbes, right?" Darien asked. She nodded. "My guess is that the normal affects of this substance are far milder than what Bobby experienced. But when he came in contact with the substance he must have overdosed, leading to the prolonged hallucination. But I should be able to cure it." "Then cure it," The Official said, "he's not getting sick pay."  
  
When Darien came into the keep a few hours later, Hobbes was lying passed out on a gurney. "How's he doing," he asked Claire, who was standing next to him. She shrugged. "I don't know. I won't be able to tell until he wakes up." They stared at him for a few moments. "So, is he going to remember anything?" Darien asked. "I have no idea," she said. "Do you hope he does?" She turned away from him and went to the microscope. "I think it would probably be best if he didn't." "Why, what's the worst that could happen? I mean, it's not like you two did anything...wait, did you two do anything." Claire stared into her microscope. "You have to tell me," Darien said. "And why is that?" "Come on. Did you get to first base?" "What the hell does that mean?" "Thats how far you went. First base is..." He was interrupted by a groan from behind them. Hobbes had opened his eyes, and was attempting to sit up. "Hobbes," Claire said, rushing to his side, "are you alright." "I have a monster of a headache," he said. "Did it work?" Darien asked. "I don't know," Claire said, "Bobby, tell me what kind of car you drive?" "I don't drive a car," he grumbled, "I drive a pile of scrap metal held together by rust and duct tape. I could walk faster." "Look like he's cured, " Darien said, patting him on the shoulder. "Welcome back, buddy." "Hobbes," Claire said, leaning over him. "How much do you remember about what happened?" "Nothing," he said softly, "the past day is a blank."   
  
Prologue  
  
It was about ten o'clock when Hobbes heard someone knocking on his door. He stood up and stretched, wondering who it was at this late hour. He peaked outside and saw Claire standing there, looking around nervously. "Hey Keep, come to check up on me?" he said, opening the door. "'Cause I'm feeling fine." "Not exactly she said, walking a few steps into the apartment. "Actually, I came to find out why you lied to me this morning." Hobbes didn't say anything. "You said you couldn't remember anything for the past twenty-four hours," Claire continued. "What makes you think that was a lie?" Claire looked him straight in the eye. "If you didn't remember anything, how did you know that only twenty-four hours had passed." Hobbes took a deep breath. "What do you want me to say? It was a lie. Are you happy?" "How much do you remember?" "Everything," he said, his voice low and throaty, "I remembered everything." Claire was quiet for a moment, looking at her feet. "Why?" she asked, "Why did you want to pretend that nothing had happened?" "I thought it would be easier," he said. "I thought it would be easier then this." "Then what?" "Then having this conversation about why we can never be together." "I'm sorry," she said, turning to go, "I thought...I don't know what I thought." "It isn't you," he said, reaching to stop her, "you're crazy if you think I don't want you. You drive me crazy every day. I think about you when I'm asleep, when I'm awake. Hell, even when I was out of my mind I still couldn't stop thinking about you." "I know the feeling," she said softly, turning to face him. "But you know we can't," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "Why," she said, taking a step closer. "The agency would forbid it," he said, brushing back a strand of her hair. "We would get fired. Well, I would get fired, anyway." She slipped of the high heels she was wearing. Without them , they were almost equal in height. "We'd make a terrible couple," she said. "I'm crazy," he added "I boring." "I'm paranoid." "I can't stand being stiffled." "I would be stiffling," he countered, his hands going to her waist. She let her arms curve around his neck. "I've been in too many bad relationships." "I've been in too many bad marriages." "You're bald." "Your....British." She smiled, running her hands through her thinning hair. "You're too short." "Your..." he paused, looking her over, "I don't think I can counter that one." He pulled her close, stopping just short of kissing her. "You're too perfect." he said, kissing her gently. After a few moments she pulled away. "Despite all that, we were pretty good being married." "Is that a prosposition?" She smiled. "I was just pointing out that maybe we aren't as hopeless as we seemed." "Maybe not," he said, kissing her again.  
  
FIN 


End file.
